Roz in Good Hands
by See Jane Write
Summary: What would have happened if Frasier took care of Roz after she tripped over Bulldog in season two's Roz in the Doghouse. Hints of a RozFrasier romance.


Disclaimer: Anything from _Frasier_ is not mine and I'm not going to pretend it is.

Author's Note: I was really bored. Many apologies if it sucks. Picks up right from the beginning of the season 2 episode "Roz in the Doghouse" after Roz tripped over Bulldog.

Roz Doyle quickly turned around in effort to make a quick dash to the elevator. She only had a few precious minutes before the time in her parking meter would run out. In her haste, she failed to notice co-worker Bulldog Briscoe kneeling down in the hallway just in front of her tying his shoe. As she tried to run down the hallway, she tripped head over heels and collapsed to the floor on the other side of Bulldog. "Ow," she began softly. "Ow," she repeated again and again as the pain in her left ankle began getting more severe.

"Oh god," Bulldog said quietly as he rose from the cold linoleum floor. "Is she alright?" he asked, glancing around at the other KACL staff members who were drawn out of their offices by the commotion.

"My god," Frasier Crane added as he rushed over to his producer. Roz was now sitting up on the floor, both hands clutched on her injured ankle. Her face was contorted with pain. "Can you move?" he asked gently.

Roz responded by picking her head up and glaring at Frasier.

"Sorry," the psychiatrist apologized weakly. "Stupid question." That being said, he extended his right arm out and wrapped it around Roz's waist. He hoisted her off the ground and, with the help of restaurant critic Gil Chesterson, he guided the moaning Roz over to a nearby chair at the side. He then carefully removed her shoe and began examining the injury.

Bulldog hesitantly approached the three of them. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked. "I feel responsible."

"You feel responsible? You **are** responsible!" Roz snapped angrily. She flinched and let out a deafening screech of pain as Frasier touched her leg. "Don't do that," she added somewhat crossly. She slapped at his hands to ensure that he would not try to do that again.

"Sorry again," Frasier noted. "Just trying to help."

"If you want to help, go put change in my parking meter! Don't add to my agony!" Roz commanded dryly in response.

"I'll do that," Bulldog volunteered. "Have change?" he asked Roz.

Roz glimpsed up at Bulldog, giving him her patented death stare. "If I could, I'd be kicking you hard in the nuts so you know," she pointed out with an icy tone underneath her voice.

Bulldog nodded understandingly. "Guess I deserved that. I'll get change," he promised as he began walking down the hallway towards the elevator.

"Well good news, I doubt it's broken," Frasier announced, rising from the floor.

"What about the show?" Roz asked curiously as she glanced over at the booth, recalling that the station break she had played was definitely over and had been for at least two minutes.

"I didn't say anything about the show," Frasier reminded his producer.

"No, the show!" Roz added with an insistent hand pointing at the booth. "You've had nearly three or four minutes of dead air!"

"Right," Frasier noted as he glanced around for the least annoying radio personality around them to cover for him. "Ah, Father Mike!" he yelled, catching the priest's attention.

"Yes?" he asked as he approached.

"Cover my show," Frasier commanded. "Blame the silence on technical issues. I've got to get Roz to the hospital."

Father Mike nodded and walked into the booth. He put the headphones on and began talking.

"Thank goodness," Frasier whispered before returning his attention to Roz. "Now, as I said, we have to get you to a hospital. Do you think you can walk?"

Roz shook her head.

"I can help!" Noel Shempsky offered happily. "Anything for the princess here," he said with a hopeful glance at Roz.

"Frasier, save me!" Roz begged.

Frasier nodded and turned around, kneeling down in front of the chair. "Here, get on my back," he said. With the help of Gil, Roz successfully crawled on. "Hang on," Frasier added as he stood up.

He only made it about three steps before bumping into one of the vending machines, which sent Roz into another fit of agonizing "ow"s. Frasier retreated towards the chair and Gil once again eased Roz back into it.

"I said save me, not kill me," Roz pointed out.

"I know and I'm sorry," Frasier apologized.

"I could still help," Noel offered again with a smile at Roz.

"No, get out!" Roz told him sternly. Noel let out a tragic sigh before dutifully obeying.

"Ok," Frasier said as he knelt down in front of Roz a second time. "Just wrap your right arm around my shoulders. I'll carry you out to my car," he informed her. Roz did as she was told and within seconds she was up in Frasier's arms. "Ready?" Frasier asked.

Roz nodded slightly and clung tighter to her friend. "You didn't park too far away from here did you?"

"My regular parking spot," Frasier promised as he began walking down towards the elevators.

Roz groaned as she and Frasier sat in the waiting room of the ER. "Why does that guy get to go in?" she pouted. "We got here way before they did."

"Roz, sweetie, he is in more danger of dying," Frasier pointed out gently. He then extended left his arm, wrapping it around Roz's shoulders.

"How dangerous could a gunshot wound be?" Roz asked bitterly as she rested her exhausted head against Frasier's left shoulder. "I'm in agony here!"

"I know, Roz," Frasier continued sympathetically. "But this may take awhile. Want something to drink?" he offered.

Roz nodded. "Anything with alcohol," she informed Frasier.

"Roz," Frasier began warningly. He gave her a slightly disappointed look.

"It was worth a shot," Roz pointed out. She sighed as she realized that Frasier still had that look on his face. "Fine, diet soda of some kind."

"One diet soda coming up," Frasier promised as he rose, kissing Roz's forehead lightly before leaving.

"Thanks," Roz whispered. "But Frasier-hurry! This place creeps me out."

"Back in a flash," Frasier pledged as he started his search for a vending machine. He walked until he came to a place where he could choose one of two hallways, neither one of them looking entirely promising.

"Can I help you?" one of the nurses asked. She tucked a lock of light brown curly hair behind her ear as she approached Frasier. "Anyone or thing you're looking for?"

"Drink machine of some sort," Frasier answered plainly.

"Soda, water, juice…" the nurse prompted.

"Whichever one's closest to here," Frasier answered simply.

"Down this hall and to the left," the nurse guided him.

"Thanks," Frasier thanked her sincerely as he followed her directions. Sure enough, he did find that machine. He scanned his choices, noting that there were no diet sodas of any kind. He smiled slightly finding something he hoped Roz would appreciate. After purchasing the drink, Frasier walked back over to where he had left Roz. He stopped in mild confusion before sighing at the realization that someone had taken his seat.

"Sorry," Roz apologized as she gestured at Frasier's now occupied seat.

Frasier shrugged. "It's fine. I can stand." He smiled, pulling out the drink from behind his back. "The soda machine was too far and I didn't want to leave you for too long."

"So you got me orange juice," Roz finished as she accepted the drink.

"But not just any orange juice," Frasier pointed out. "Tropicana."

A small smile crept over Roz's face as she thought back to Frasier's Tropicana comment about her sex life that he made over the radio. "You know I hate it when you and Niles make jokes about my sex life. Especially over the radio," she reminded him.

"Yes, I know," Frasier said. "But you were asking for it! It's my show for a reason and that reason is because I give the advice. If you want to give advice, start _The Roz Doyle Show_. You can replace Bulldog."

Before Roz could reply, one of the nurses from behind the desk approached the two of them. She held a small clipboard in her hand, which she gave to Frasier. "Things are dying down so you should get seen within the next forty-five minutes," the nurse promised.

"Thank-you," Frasier commented as he glanced down at the papers on the clipboard. "Want me to fill this out for you?" he asked curiously.

"Frasier, you don't have to. You've already done so much."

Frasier nodded. "I know. But you're my friend and I'm going to help you as much as I can. First name," he began.

"Frasier," Roz started.

"Sorry, I knew that one," he commented as he began writing in 'Rozalinda' above the space marked first name. He then continued to fill out as much of the information as he knew, which was not that much after her last name. "Middle initial?" he asked curiously.

"E," Roz answered. She glanced at the seat on her left, noting that it was now vacant.

"Elizabeth?" Frasier asked curiously.

"No, but quickly, steal the seat," Roz said as she gestured at the unoccupied seat.

Frasier nodded and sat down. "Emily?" he asked curiously.

"Again, no," Roz said as she rested her head against Frasier's right shoulder. "But I can clearly see that you have more blanks to fill in."

Again, Frasier nodded. "Right then. Date of birth? I know it's May 5th, but I'm fairly certain they want the year."

"1964," Roz mumbled under her breath.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Frasier asked as he turned, looking Roz in the eye.

"1964," Roz said again, this time she had her left hand above her mouth.

"Roz," Frasier warned.

"1964," Roz finally answered. "But keep that quiet. There's a cute guy over there who looks younger than that. I don't want him turned off by my age."

"Roz, please, you're thirty. It's not that bad, honest," Frasier assured her. "And I was right about you squeezing more fruit than Tropicana if you're seriously thinking about asking that guy out," he added with one glance at the man Roz was referring to. He was not bad looking for his age, but he looked like he could not possibly be any older than twenty-one. "He probably isn't able to legally drink yet."

"Frasier, my dating habits are none of your concern," Roz pointed out.

"That is where you are wrong," Frasier corrected her. "You are one of my deepest friends and I don't want to see you get hurt after things don't work out. If you're not careful, Roz, you could end up in an abusive relationship, pregnant, or being the victim of some STD. I can't stand the thought of you going through that."

"You're sweet," Roz said with a smile up at Frasier. "Anything else you need to know?" she asked as she sat up straight.

"You should probably fill out the rest," Frasier commented. "Insurance things and all that."

Roz nodded as she took the clipboard and began filling out her insurance information. "Frasier?" she began after a few moments.

"Yes?" Frasier asked as he wrapped an arm around her thin shoulders.

"I really appreciate all you've done for me. Today in particular. It means a lot."

"Any time," Frasier promised her. "You can come to me with anything."

"I know," Roz said softly. She glanced over the paper before handing it to Frasier. "Can you take this up?" she asked.

"Of course," Frasier said as he took the clipboard and handed it over to the receptionist. He then quickly walked back before his seat was taken. "It won't be long now," he promised Roz as he put a comforting hand on top of hers. "You look exhausted," he noted as he watched Roz trying to keep from yawning.

"Just a little tired," Roz answered honestly. "Long day and all."

"Go ahead and sleep," Frasier said. "I'll wake you when you're up."

Roz nodded and once again leaned her head against Frasier's shoulder. Before long, her eyes were closed and she was sleeping peacefully in the chair. Frasier stared at her, just watching her. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He did not want to wake her for the world. "You're doing great, honey," he whispered softly. "Sleep tight." He wrapped his arm around her gently as if shielding her from the harsh realities of the emergency room. He stayed that way for nearly half an hour, keeping absolutely still in fear that the tiniest bit of motion would wake her.

"Rozalinda Doyle?" the doctor announced as he walked out into the waiting room.

"It's Roz and she's right here," Frasier whispered as he stuck his free hand up in the air. Although he could not bring himself to wake her, he knew that it was better for him to wake her than to have her wake as a result of something the doctors would be doing to her. He gently reached out and touched her shoulder. "Roz?" he whispered. "Roz," he added a little louder. He gently shook her until she awoke.

"What?" she asked in momentary confusion. "This isn't my room." She frowned as she remembered what had gone on earlier that day. "Oh," she began. "Is it my turn?" she asked.

Frasier nodded. "You're up," he announced.

Roz nodded back with a small hint of fear underneath her. "Will you come with me?" she asked. "I mean you don't have to. You've done so much…"

"Shh, shh," Frasier began. "I'll be with you all the way. Just let me make a quick call to Niles and tell him to pick up opera tickets from here."

"No," Roz said. "You've done enough. I don't want to spoil your evening."

Frasier shook his head. "You're not spoiling. You're way more important."


End file.
